Kids Are Tough
by Jane Krahe
Summary: After a rough mission involving children, Tony's attitude about it makes the team think he's being flippant about childhood trauma, and that he doesn't understand what it's like to experience trauma at a young age. Coulson sets them straight.


Steve looked around at the group of tired, bloody, filthy people around him. They were in a small, windowless room in SHIELD headquarters, the walls blank white brick, the furniture stiff and plain and efficient. Steve was in a chair nearest the door, mostly out of habit. Thor was on the ground, leaning back against the couch, one leg hitched up, the other stretched out in front of him under a coffee table. On the couch was Bruce, wearing generic SHIELD-issue pants and shirt. He was barefoot and curled in on himself, his hands together and pressed tightly between his thighs, as if he were trying to prevent himself from reaching out. Or striking out. Natasha was next to him, thigh pressed against Bruce's, eyes staring flatly at the door. He knew the only reason her gaze was fixed at the door instead of off into space was because of her training. She wasn't actually watching the door. Clint was sprawled across her lap, and HIS eyes were glazed, his mind clearly fixed inwards. His head was on her legs, her fingers methodically stroking through his hair. Clint's whole body was lax in the way that screamed of pain and exhaustion. He handled pain in a way normal people didn't. He didn't tense up, because that would affect his ability to fight. No, he relaxed, even though that amplified the pain. He could shove his pain aside in a way that was second only to Natasha.

Tony was in the other arm chair, sitting a little apart from the group as usual. He was still wearing the armor, though the helmet was sitting on the coffee table along with Mjolnir, Steve's shield, and Clint's bow. Tony's chin rested on his metal-covered fist, his eyes glazed and resting somewhere in mid air. That, more than anything, emphasized just how bad this mission had been. Tony wasn't talking. He wasn't babbling with exhausted glee at victory. He wasn't buzzing with unused energy, or vibrating with adrenaline. He was lax and limp. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking in messy spikes. He was relatively clean compared to the rest of the team, though his armor was scratched and dirty. He was so STILL. It put Steve on edge; Tony was never still. But then, they'd never had a mission quite like this.

The call to assemble had come from Fury, early in the morning. They'd suited up and headed out, ready and well-rested for once. But when they'd gotten on the scene, Fury had stopped them with a deathly serious look on his face, of a caliber Steve had never seen.

And then he'd told them exactly what was happening.

It was mutant trouble. Not normally their area, but Xavier and his team had been distracted by the bastard already, and were an hour out. They were there for containment, to keep the damage to a minimum until Xavier could get there. A mutant with hypnotic powers had enthralled a group of other mutants and had set them loose on a small area of downtown Manhattan, using them as human shields so he could get done whatever it was he'd gone there to do.

The mutants were children, ranging in age from about fifteen to as young as ten.

By the time they got there, the cops, or possibly armed citizens, had already shot and killed three of the oldest teens.

Tony had found the first body.

They had spent the next forty-five minutes frantically trying to keep the children from killing people without harming a hair on their mind-controlled heads. It was one of the hardest things they'd ever done. They knew how to keep civilian damage to a minimum. It was part of their training, one of their first instincts in battle. But keeping the enemy safe? None of them had that instinct. A lot of people assumed Steve did, but he didn't. He tried nowadays to keep enemies alive when he's told to, but he was trained in a war. When his Howling Commandos were storming Hydra bases, they didn't often take prisoners.

Strangely enough, the one who'd been best at neutralizing the children had been the Hulk. He'd gone running at the first one to attack him, but had skidded to a stop a few feet away. He'd cocked his head and stared at the twelve year old with blazing eyes who'd thrown a car at him. Then he'd lumbered forward and picked the kid up in a big fist, fingers curled almost gently around the small body. The child had glared at him, eyes glowing white. Then the light fizzled out and the child look confused and scared. Hulk had walked back to where SHIELD had set up camp and deposited the child, still so careful, amidst a group of agents, who immediately tranquillized him. Then he turned back to fray and began to repeat the process.

But there had to be fifty or more kids, all moving without any pattern or reason. Steve kept wondering wildly how the hell whoever was controlling them had managed to find such a concentration of mutant kids. Wasn't this what Xavier and his people did? Weren't they supposed to identify mutant kids before this sort of thing could happen?

Steve lost count of how many times he pulled a punch almost too late; how many times he had to alter his throw of the shield right before it left his hands. There were so many near misses, and each time one of the kids came close to being hurt, his stomach had rolled painfully, and his heart jumped into his throat.

It's so quiet in the room. The only sounds are his team's breath, at times a little ragged.

It's Clint who speaks first. "None of them had training," he said. His voice was raw and dry. Everyone came out of their glazed stupors and looked at him. He continued, eyes still on the ceiling, "I don't think they were Xavier's kids. Any of them. Because even the youngest kids at his school get defensive training. But these kids..." He frowns slightly. "They were just _kids_. Some of them, it was like they didn't really know how to use their powers."

Bruce spoke up then, and god, his voice was even worse than Clint's. "I read up on the x gene awhile back," he said, frowning a little. "Abilities typical emerge at puberty, often spurred by a highly emotional or stressful event. I think... there's a possibility that he somehow identified them before their powers manifested, and perhaps forced it out of them."

Steve's jaw clenched. "By putting them through a traumatic event?" he asked.

Bruce met his eyes and there a tinge of horror there. But Tony said sharply, "Enough. This is Xavier's problem now. He's got the bastard and they took the kids. He'll take care of them." They all looked at him. "It won't do us any good imagining what might have happened to them. It's over."

"But they're just _kids_," Clint repeated, as if he just couldn't get past that fact.

"Exactly," Tony said. "They're kids. Kids are smart; they're tough. They bounce back when adults can't. They're at Xavier's school now and they'll be okay. They'll be fine." He was so flippant about it, and Steve gave him a look that was mirrored by most of the others. Except Thor; he was still staring into space.

"Tony," Steve said, trying to hide how disgusted he was by Tony's attitude. "Aren't you the least bit worried about them? I mean, the youngest ones couldn't have been more than ten. And they killed a lot of people before we got there."

"We don't even know if they'll remember it," Tony said, waving a hand. This dismissive tone infuriated Steve, and he knew by the way the others were starting to move around that he wasn't the only one. "And even if they do, so what? Everyone's got shit in their past. I know this was bad but -"

"But nothing." Natasha's voice was cold, low. "These children were kidnapped, forced to harm innocent people, and were most likely harmed themselves. They are now mutants, rejected from society. Many of them have families, undoubtedly, families they won't be able to return to. You, Stark, have no idea what trauma like that is like, and what it can do to a child. You were an adult when you were kidnapped in Afghanistan. A distracted mother and a boozy, neglectful father are nowhere near this caliber of abuse. You have no idea what they're feeling."

The room was silent for a long moment. Steve was tense, because he knew how Tony got whenever his parents were mentioned; especially his father.

Finally, Tony stood. He picked up his helmet and said in his best disdainful voice, the one usually reserved for tabloid journalists and asshole political pundits, "You read a guy's file and think you know all there is to know about him, don't you, Agent Romanov?" He turned and left the room, footstep unnaturally heavy with the weight of armor. Steve watched him go but didn't say anything. He was too tired, too sick with what had happened to think he could do anything to make Tony stay. He wasn't sure making him stay would be a good idea, either. Natasha's fists were clenched and Clint was looking up at her from his place on her lap. He reached up and took hold of one of her clenched fists, bringing it down to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat.

Steve looked away. He wasn't going to leave the room, but they didn't need him watching them. His gaze fell on Bruce, who was staring at the door Tony had just exited, frowning.

"Captain." Thor spoke up finally. "You knew Anthony's father, did you not?"

Steve shook his head. "No," he replied. "I knew Howard Stark. He... wasn't the man I knew by the time he was Tony's father." He hadn't heard much since he got back about Howard – Tony hated talking about him – but he'd gathered enough to know that the Howard who raised Tony was nothing like the Howard who'd flown with Steve.

The door opened again and Steve looked up, hopeful. But it was Coulson. He was carrying a tablet and looked a little reluctant. "I'm sorry," he said, as everyone sat up a little straighter. "Fury let me give you some time, but he wants the debriefing now. I suppose it's best to get it over with." He looked around. "Where's Stark?"

"Pouting," Clint said.

A slight crease appeared between Coulson's eyebrows – the closest he ever got to frowning. He turned to Steve, who shifted uncomfortably. "He was being kind of – unpleasant," he said.

"He was being an ass," Clint interjected.

"And he left -" Steve tried to continue.

"-to go pout," Natasha finished.

Coulson looked at Bruce, who took his glasses off and wiped them idly with a handkerchief. "I have to admit that his attitude surprised me. He's actually quite empathetic usually, even if he doesn't show it. But..." he put his glass back on and shrugged, a little helplessly. "I'm not sure, Agent. He was completely dismissive about what those children must have went through; he kept saying kids are tough and they'd be fine. When Natasha pointed out that Tony had no idea what those kind of experiences could do to children, he got upset and left. I assume he's back at the tower by now."

Coulson was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. "Actually, before this debriefing, I want you all the come with me. There's something I want to explain to you." He turned and headed down the hall. The rest of the team glanced at each other then hurried to follow. Coulson led them to a small conference room. He closed the door behind them then pressed a few buttons on the control panel on the wall. A screen slid up from the table and Coulson dimmed the lights. They all sat down around the screen and Coulson went to stand beside it.

"I know you've all read Tony's file," Coulson said. "But Tony's file isn't as detailed as the rest of yours. It says, I believe, only that his relationship with his father was 'strained', and that Howard Stark spent more time at work than at home, correct?"

There was murmur of agreement and Steve couldn't help but mourn a little for what became of the man he knew.

"Did any of you ever wonder why Stark was able to resist the torture used on him during his captivity in Afghanistan?" Coulson asked.

Steve glanced around at everyone. No one spoke, though Bruce looked contemplative. Clint was cleaning his nails with an arrowhead. Thor was leaning forward, giving his full attention to Coulson. Finally Steve said, "Well... he's stubborn. I mean, we've all butted heads with Tony; we know how he can be."

"You think simply being stubborn is enough to resist weeks of torture?" Coulson asked mildly.

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced around once more and noticed that Natasha seemed to be understanding something that no one else was. She didn't look happy about it.

Coulson started fiddling with something on his tablet and the screen on the table came to life. "From the age of seven," Coulson said, and the tone of his voice made it clear he was reading something, "Anthony Stark was subjected to routine training and simulations designed to provide him with the tools to resist torture and endure extended periods of captivity."

Steve leaned forward, face a mix of disbelief and disgust. "_What_?"

Coulson did something on the tablet again and a video began running on the screen.

All eyes turned to the image. It was in black and white, clearly old. The camera was sitting in a room, aimed at an alarmingly small figure tied to a chair. Two men were standing near him, one right next to the chair, the other some distance off, his arms crossed, watching impassively. Steve's stomach twisted as he recognized Howard. The sound was a little distorted with age, but still clear enough to make out that the small figure was clearly a child. A child who was crying.

"Tell me the code to the safe in Howard Stark's study," the man said. He had a slight accent that Steve couldn't place, the tone cold as steel. Everyone in the room jumped as the man slapped the weeping child in the face.

The boy's crying was the silent, shuddering kind that children have when they've been crying for a long time, and just can't help themselves, and just can't stop. "I c-can't," the boy managed. He was small, so small for his age. Small and dark and pale, with huge brown eyes.

"Give. Me. The Code." The man slapped him again and Bruce made a small sound of protest. Steve's hands gripped the edge of the table.

The boy was crying so hard now, silent sobs wracking his frame. "Nineteen," he whispered, and god, the defeat in his voice was palpable. The moment he spoke, Steve saw Howard made a disgusted noise and turned away, turning his back to his son. "Twenty," the boy continued, so soft they could barely hear him. "Seven. Four."

Howard strode over til he stood somewhere next to the camera and out of sight, then slammed his hand down on an unseen surface. "Goddammit, Anthony!" he snarled, and Steve felt suddenly sick to his stomach. His voice was so achingly familiar, but the tone was completely alien.

But the worst part was the way the boy curled in on himself even more at the words, hanging his head in shame.

"Turn it off." The rough, hoarse voice was Natasha's. "Coulson, turn it off."

He did, just as the man approached the shivering boy again, this time holding what looked like a shock wand.

Steve swallowed, feeling his stomach trying to rebel. This was not the Howard he'd known. He heard wood creak and looked down to see he'd gripped the edge of the table so hard that cracks had appeared in the grain. He released it and pressed his hands to his legs, nails digging into his thighs.

But his mind skittered back to that tiny boy who shivered and sobbed. That was Tony.

That was Tony.

"Stark received this training periodically for several years," Coulson continued, voice impassive as ever. "Howard Stark did this, we believe, because he believed his son would one day be taken, to be used against Howard in some way. He'd made many enemies and his wealth and chosen occupation attracted a certain number of people looking to gain from him."

"He thought they'd kidnap Tony to use as... leverage?" Bruce asked, voice hushed. "Or ransom? Or to get information from him?"

"All of the above," Coulson replied. "More than one attempt had been made on his family's lives at that point, and Tony had a habit of reckless behavior even then. He also had a habit of knowing things he wasn't supposed to. Presumably, Howard viewed him as a liability."

"But he never got kidnapped, right?" Clint asked. "I mean, I never read about it. You'd think that's something people would know, if the son of one of the richest men around went missing."

"He was abducted," Coulson said. "Once. When he was thirteen. The authorities were not notified."

"What?" Steve said, glaring up at Coulson. "Why the hell not?"

Coulson tapped on the tablet and his eyes scanned over his something. "It is unknown as to why Howard never contacted authorities; Tony was missing for nearly a week by the time he contacted his father. Not much is known about his time in captivity; he was abducted from a dinner party at the age of thirteen. He was held for at least three days, possibly as many as six; we are uncertain. At some point during his captivity, he escaped his bonds, or perhaps was released from them, and managed to get a hold of a knife. It was a small kitchen knife, and he used it to kill the man guarding him. He was found six days after his abduction, at a gas station in Nebraska. He was barefoot and had been covered in bruises and lacerations. His clothes were bloody, though most of it was not his own. He had apparently walked there from where he was being held. He was caught stealing water and food from the gas station convenience store and was detained by the owner, who called the police. It took another two days for the police to identify Tony, as Tony refused to tell them his name, and his father had not yet issued a missing child report. But soon, someone at the department recognized him and he was taken back to New York to be reunited with his parents. From what we understand, he gave a very brief account of what happened to his father, and never spoke of the incident again. Our own report on what happened has been cobbled together from eye-witnesses and what little we could dig up. We only know about the man Tony killed because the body was found a week later, though at the time no connections were made between the John Doe with fourteen stab wounds in a cabin in the Nebraskan plains, and the boy who had turned up bruised and bloody in a gas station the week before. Because we can verify very little of it, it wasn't included in Tony's profile."

The room was deathly silent. Steve looked around and saw his own look of sick horror mirrored on the faces of the rest of his team. Coulson turned on the lights and lowered the screen back into the table with a few taps on the tablet. Then he said, "I know that Stark isn't everyone's favorite person; I wouldn't say he's mine, either. But I don't want anyone underestimating him. Because people who underestimate Tony Stark, who assume he is just a spoiled rich boy who can't defend himself – those people have a habit of dying." He looked around mildly, meeting each person's eye in turn. "I want your word that what I've told you won't leave this room; and that you won't let Tony know that you know this about him."

Everyone nodded mutely. "Good," Coulson continued, and his voice took on the brisk, efficient quality again. "Now, let's get this debriefing done so we can all go home."

When they got back to the tower, exhausted and heart sick and feeling guilty, they stood around in the rec room and fidgeted, staring at each other. "Someone should go talk to Tony," Bruce said after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"We're not supposed to let him know we know," Clint said.

"It should be me," Natasha said, her voice flat and colorless. "But I don't think I can." It was said completely without inflection, but Steve knew by now what the admission cost her.

"I'll go," Steve said. "I'm the leader of this team, and I – I want to. I won't tell him anything," he added as Clint opened his mouth again. "But he's all alone and he's probably been reliving it all day." And the code to Howard's safe had been Steve's birthday; he hadn't told them that, but he felt a little responsible for what Tony had been through. If he'd been there, if he'd never gone down under the ice... but there was no use in thinking like that. And he had a feeling Tony wouldn't appreciate it if he knew. "Jarvis," Steve said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yes, Captain Roger?" Jarvis replied in his crisp voice.

"Is Tony is his lab?"

"Yes, he is."

Steve bit his lip. "Are we locked out?"

There was a pause. Then Jarvis said, a little slower than before, "Sir has locked the door. But he has not disabled your security codes. Any one of you may enter, if you so chose."

"Thank you." Steve looked at them all, then tightened his jaw and headed to the elevator.

Stepping out of it a few minutes later, he moved to the clear wall of Tony's workshop. Tony perched on a stool at a workbench. Dummy was beside him, fidgeting a little as Tony worked on him. Steve keyed his code into the pad and walked inside, watching them.

"Hold still, you pile of useless bolts," Tony said. "What the hell were you thinking, you _know_ you're not supposed to try to unplug the toaster, seriously? This is what you get, I should leave you here with fried hardware." The bot beeped in a disturbingly hangdog way and Tony's expression softened. He patted the metal of Dummy's arm and said, "Not much longer, buddy, okay?" The bot chirped again and Steve cleared his throat.

Tony looked up at him, startled, eyes sharp, and it took a moment for them to focus and recognize Steve. When they did, he tensed and turned back to his work. "Kinda busy here, Cap," he said, his tone light, but clearly forced.

"I just wanted to let you know that we took care of the debriefing," Steve said. He grabbed a stool and dragged it over to sit on the other side of the workbench, watching Tony's hands as they twisted wires and danced over electronics. "And to apologize for earlier. We were all on edge; it was a rough mission. We didn't mean to upset you."

Tony went still for a moment. "I wasn't trying to say it wasn't bad," he said, voice cracking slightly as his hands began to move again. "I know it was. I'm just saying – kids can bounce back. Kids are tough."

"I know they are," Steve said softly.

"I mean they couldn't help it," Tony continued, and Steve didn't think the man had heard him. "They didn't know what they were doing, they were just doing what they were told, it wasn't like it was their fault, they didn't do anything wrong." He turned his dark eyes on Steve, hollow and a little blood shot in his pale face. A note of pleading in them. "Did they?" It was more of a question than it probably should have been.

"No," Steve agreed. "They didn't do anything wrong."

Tony gave a smile that was both relieved and a little breathless, then turned back to his robot. "This junk on wheels managed to give himself a little shock earlier, screwing around with the toaster. I've got to replace some wiring but it should be too long, maybe we can order pizza, oh and that show is still on the DVR, the one Clint likes, we can watch that, but I think we all need showers first, don't you? You stink Cap, no offense but you stink, it's gross. We're all gross. And maybe then we can play some Mariokart, I'm feeling the need to violently overtake Clint in a race..."

Steve let Tony's rambling wash over him, comfortable and familiar. Soon they would eat pizza, and watch some tv, and maybe even play video games. Because kids were tough. And they would be okay. Tony would be okay.


End file.
